glasspaperclip: (Brian // Go team!)
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Thesis. Antithesis. Synthesis.
(1,372) // (NC-17)
Bob Bryar/Brian Schechter
Bob is a quiet guy - but it might also be because he often has his mouth otherwise occupied when they’re together.
The guys aren't mine, it never happened.
Inspired by this post at [livejournal.com profile] we_are_cities + #21 Alternate Reality at [livejournal.com profile] fanfic50
For [livejournal.com profile] anne_elliot. This is both a birthday gift and a small thank-you note, dear. You know why. ♥ [livejournal.com profile] ky_betty offered help, enthusiasm, and did the beta duties. Thank you so much. ♥


*

Thesis.

Bob is a quiet guy, or at least that's the impression Brian has of him - hey, they've never really talked. Sure, there have been some times when Bob asked him about which floor he was supposed to be on, or that day when Brian apologized for bumping into him as he got out the elevator, but common courtesy aside, they barely exchanged a word. It couldn’t be otherwise though. Their paths only cross twice a day, once in the morning while going to work, and once in the afternoon before turning back home. Two minutes scarce out of an entire day, two minutes spent looking elsewhere – because fuck, it’s awkward - for the most part.

Usually Bob stands next to the buttons, legs slightly apart, head a little lowered, and both hands in the pockets of his pants.

The badge pinned on Bob’s shirt (Brian’s sure that dude has got a whole stock of crispy white shirts in his closet) is what firstly informed Brian about his name and department, months ago, and sometimes he keeps his eyes on it, staring at the picture with a small smile. It’s less dangerous than staring at its owner.

Every once in a while though, their gazes meet – Brian would be lying if he said he never sought for that contact, and he would be lying if he said it never happened by chance – and in those moments he smiles, like most people do when they’re stuck in elevators. The only difference is that his is a real smile, not a fake, polite one.

Bob always smiles back. He's never the first to start it, but he nods and the corners of his lips curl up; in some spring days, when the sunlight hits the glass of the elevator just right, that sight might make Brian feel a bit weak at the knees.

Not that he has any reason to. Bob does it out of courtesy, nothing more, and if Brian catches himself thinking that last time the smile has reached Bob's eyes, he’s quick to discard the idea. They’re living in Real Life, not on the set of Cinderella.

‘Real Life’ is what he repeats to himself whenever he spots a blond head on the other side of the darkened glass that separates the offices, rows of cubicles away from his own. ‘Real Life’ is also what he says in the mouthpiece when 203 – is that Bob's intern, for fuck’s sake? – appears on the display of his phone.

“Schechter speaking.” Like that, all professional and shit. What could Bob possibly want from him? Brian didn’t even know that-

“Hey, Schechter. I'm planning to go out for a coffee after I get off work this afternoon. Are you coming too?”

Sitting at his desk, rows of cubicles away from Brian, Bob taps his fingers against his chair, smiling.


Antithesis.

Bob is a quiet guy - but it might also be because he often has his mouth otherwise occupied when they’re together. Right now, for example, he's kneeling on the bathroom floor, dutifully sucking Brian off and that renders him pretty much unable to speak.

They've been at it for some time already, they need to speed things up: for some reason, giving head to a co-worker isn't contemplated in the contract they signed when their boss hired them. Besides, a cubicle isn't the most comfortable place to engage in sexual activities. Too little space to move, the risk of being caught by those who just need to take a piss, the awkward position they have to keep. Practice makes perfect, yes, they’ve met in the male bathrooms often enough to know how to work things out, but the truth is that it’d be ten thousand times easier if they fucked at home like everyone else.

Still, Brian prefers it that way. He runs his fingers through Bob’s hair, watching him as he takes his cock almost all the way in, his head moving back and forth. Bob wasn’t that great at giving head when they hooked up for the first time, he gave Brian a half-assed blowjob in that same bathroom after they got out of a meeting. It took him a little while – and some lessons from Brian’s side, too – to master that art but hey, it was worth it. It was so fucking worth it, and when their eyes lock, Brian thinks that he wouldn’t really want to trade their fleeting encounters with anything else. Stealing ten minutes today, other ten tomorrow or next week to get off in the last cubicle is more than enough. Once they’re done, they just wipe themselves clean, zip it up, and head to their respective offices, spent and satisfied.

Brian’s fingers curl up, and he thrusts his hips forwards once, twice. He’s almost there, almost right there, when Bob lets go a little. Brian groans – fuck, he can’t help it – and tries to pull Bob back, but he apparently has other plans. With his tongue Bob licks the underside of Brian’s cock, taking his time before closing his lips around the tip again. The bastard is doing it on purpose, he’s jacking off, and he doesn’t want Brian to come too soon.

“Motherfucker,” whispers Brian. He has a meeting with a client in about five minutes, his boss will have his ass served on a silver plate if he shows up late again. “Come on.”

Kneeling on the tiles of a bathroom floor with Brian’s dick shoved deep into his mouth, Bob lets out a muffled sound. It sounds a bit like a laughter.


Synthesis.

Bob is a quiet guy. According to his mom, he’s always been, one of those children who likes to eat and sleep all the time rather than drive their parents crazy with cries and random whims. It’s a trait of his temper that went handy more than once (say, it helped him to not being picked on in school – well, not that much anyway), but that sometimes becomes annoying, especially when there’s a teasing boyfriend around, ready to take advantage of it.

“I mean, if you swap those two and move this one – I’m talking about the smaller – to the right, it’d be a lot better, no? What do you think? Because I quite like the visual effect. People would focus on the image first, I’m sure. Do you like it?”

Bob grumbles something that is neither a ‘yes’ nor a ‘no’ and shifts his position on the chair. Attempt failed though, because Brian notices and just moves closer. The bastard. To an external eye, it looks like he’s just casually leaning over while talking, no harm no foul, but the truth is that Brian’s chest presses against Bob’s shoulder, his left arm brushes past Bob’s whenever he points at something on the pc screen, and his mouth is – fuck – way too near Bob’s cheek.

“Asshole,” Bob hisses. “Can’t you cut it out? Everyone is looking at us.”

“No one is looking at us, you big pussy. They’re all busy playing the solitaire or having phonesex with their lovers.”

While talking, Brian has lowered his head a bit more towards Bob’s neck, and Bob sort of wants to die. Or to slam Brian on the desk and fuck the shit out of him in front of everyone. Now that would be priceless.

“I know what you’re thinking about, Bob.”

“How.”

Brian grins. “I have the very same fantasies about you, of course. Working with your boyfriend has some advantages.”

“Jesus, you’re a pervert. Since when does the thought of sex in public places turns you on?”

“They say that it takes one to know one,” replies Brian, clearly amused. He reaches over then and cups Bob’s erection with his palm, as if he meant to prove his point. He probably does, thinks Bob, wincing.

“Whoa, Brian…”

“You save this for tonight, um? Love you.”

Brian is gone the moment later, leaving behind a fleeting smell of musky cologne and a warm feeling in Bob’s stomach, too. It almost makes up for the case of blue balls he’s just caused him. Almost.

Bob shakes his head and smiles, murmuring to himself something that sounds like 'Idiot. I love you too.'
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